Mutant
Price to Pay : Reporter
by Mapu
I don't own the seaQuest crew or the X-Men. I just play with them. This is the first of my Mutant series and is a crossover between seaQuest season 1 and X-men (the movie). Each story in the series is told from more than one point of view. Thankyou, Donna and Caitlin for the edit of this story.
It was times like this when Alan McKay, until recently of Channel 2 News, hated his whole profession and everyone associated with it ... himself most of all. He sat impassively, watching the sensational footage of a young blonde mutant committing a capital crime, knowing it was a lie ... and knowing there was nothing he could, or would do about it. He flipped off the vid set, disgusted at it and himself. Taking a long drink of the powerful brew he'd mixed for himself, he contemplated the vid disk in his hand, admiring the way the light innocently refracted into a stunning multicolored rainbow. It didn't seem to bother the gleaming light that the disk contained some of the most controversial and damning footage around. It bothered Alan McKay. Reaching over he turned the set back on and slipped the disk into the reader. Savoring the harsh burn of the alcohol down his throat, he drank slowly, and watched the events as they had really happened ... not as the media service around the country, and the world, had been showing them.
The screen in front of him showed the same scene he'd witnessed that day through the viewfinder of his vid camera as he followed Senator Kelly through the doors into the natural history museum. The senator was hot media news. To look at him you would swear it was an election year, the man seemed to be on the campaign trail. He was everywhere on the news and had developed a huge following. Crowds of people flocked to each of his engagements ... some traveling for miles to hear the man speak.
The crowds were seldom disappointed ... Senator Robert Kelly loved to talk. And he had a message the crowd wanted to hear. "Mutants are to blame." If you listened to what the man actually said, most of it was ridiculous. The senator had all but laid the blame for every global problem soundly on the shoulders of the mutants. He had no solutions, no constructive plans to help the UEO economy, no idea how to diffuse the tension in the world's hot spots ... all he had was someone to blame. Alan didn't care much for mutants himself... he'd reported on one once, a boy who had spontaneously grown gills and could breath under water. The whole thing was just too weird and freaky for him, but he really hadn't given it too much thought. It was just a story.
Kelly was the story of the moment. The man was hot property and Alan pushed through the crowd of his fellow reporters to gain a better vantagepoint to film from. That he had to shove Nick Garrison aside to get the best shot was just an added bonus.
Alan noticed the skinny kid across the room, he noticed him cause the kid was in frame, and ruining the perfect shot. The boy was staring open mouthed in surprise at the senator. If there was one thing Alan hated, more than anything, it was a gawker in his shot. Alan detested people who stood in wide-eyed amazement, as though they had never seen a famous person or a camera in their life. Alan was happy when the kid turned back away from the camera to stare at the sculpture. All of a sudden the kid started swaying on his feet and clutched at the table for support. Alan groan internally, "Great, the kid was a street kid ... probably high on something, and was going to make a scene by getting sick and collapsing." Right when Kelly was building up to the big mutant finally of his speech. The stupid little shit was going to ruin the shot.
Alan was considering moving so that he could cut the kid from his view when he saw the boy straighten and back away several feet from the sculpture, staring at the table as if was going to leap up an bite him. The tousled blonde head looked worriedly around the room as if he didn't know what to do. Alan made a promise to himself that he'd beat the crap out of the kid as soon as Kelly was done ... or at least give him a piece of his mind. What the hell was the kid's problem?
Alan sighed in relief as the teenager moved toward the exit and Alan smiled behind the view port, he'd soon be out of the shot. Channel 2 would be getting some really great footage of the senator. The teenager hesitated at the doorway to let another family into the museum. Alan watched the boy with one eye, he was out of the shot now but something about the kid demanded his attention. The boy looked back around the room with a haunted look on his face.
Alan left the camera trained on Senator Kelly but now the boy had all his attention. Alan knew that expression; he'd covered a war in the African confederation earlier in his career. He'd seen that look on the faces of young soldiers, moments before they began a battle with impossible odds. Another expression he recognized crossed the boy's face and he swung the camera off the senator to focus on the kid. There was an infinite sadness in the boy's young eyes and his face slowly grew calm with the acceptance of a decision.
Alan let the camera follow the boy as he walked back to the sculpture he'd just left and knelt in front of it level with the paneling of the support bench. A soft white glow shot up around the teen and Alan could see small sparks of energy discharged into the boy's pale body. The kid's face was a mask of pain for a moment and Alan was sure he heard a soft cry come from that direction. The kid was a mutant Alan realized with shock.
It was spectacular sight, the delicate figure in the intensifying glow was so calm he looked almost ethereal. The boy reached out his hands toward the paneling, as other people became aware of his actions. A woman screamed and there was the sound of shouting.
"A mutant! Protect the senator," one of the senator's security people yelled, drawing his weapon.
"No!" Alan yelled, as the security man leveled the gun at the boy's back. Time seemed to slow as Alan abandoned his camera on the ground and tried to force his way forward to stop the guard. Across the room the boy had made a large hole in the paneling. Alan hadn't seen many bombs in his lifetime but he knew what they looked like. He found himself staring at a huge device; an electronic timer embedded into the explosive counting down the seconds.
Despite his best efforts, he was too late, and a shot rang out before he could stop it. He saw the boy's body knocked savagely to the side from the impact. The kid cried out in pain and the soft glow that had surrounded him blazed brilliant white for a moment... almost like a camera flash, before it vanished completely. In that instant the huge stone pillar at the kid's back was pulverized, sending debris flying in all directions.
Alan heard a sharp crack and looked up to the ceiling where fine splits like a spider's web appeared in the decorative surface. A security camera installation mounted in the ceiling shattered and rained down in fragments. Sections of plaster and concrete began to rain down as well. Alan watched as the kid weakly trying to get away from the falling debris. A stone hit the blonde head, and the kid collapsed into a heap. Alan tried to work his way through the panicked people rushing for the exit ... someone had to help the kid.
Pandemonium reigned, and people pushed and shoved their way passed each other trying to escape. Alan felt a solid knock to his side and he fell winded to the ground. A hand tried to help him up but he was too winded to stand.
"Leave him. There's no time. Get out, now." Alan heard the shouted words and thought with relief that someone was trying to help the boy. He wanted to argue with the voice but couldn't find the air. The helping hands dropped away and Alan realized the voices had been talking about him. He was being left behind to die.
He finally caught his breath back and struggled to his feet. He had intended to run for the exit, but a glance at the bomb convinced him it would be pointless. He had been good at track and field in high school, but even at the peak of his fitness he couldn't have crossed the more than 50m in the 8 seconds left remaining. He stared, hypnotized by the count down, his thoughts on his family. Images of, Julie, his wife and his two young sons flashed into his mind. He thought of his sons having to grow up without him and of Julie, his first and only love, left to face life alone.
Directly in front of the bomb sat the young mutant, blood soaking darkly through the light colored material of his shirt. "This kid is going to die too," Alan thought. The incredible bravery of the boy's actions struck Alan with force. The kid had known the bomb was there ... he'd been leaving and he would have made it out. Instead, he'd gone back and revealed its existence to everyone ... warning them all. How many lives had this kid saved? Alan recalled the look on the boy's face as he made his decision. There was no doubt in Alan's mind; the boy had known in advance the price he would pay, but had chosen to do it anyway.
A truth, that he had never recognized before hit home ... mutants were people. Some tried to do the right thing, a few were angry at the world, and most were everyday types, but occasionally one was courageous. Alan watched the boy with a desperate hope as the strange glow sprung up around him once more, and he again cried out in pain. As the seconds raced toward zero the kid reached forward with a shaking hand and touched the device. Alan closed his eyes as the counter finished its cycle. He waited several seconds before opening his eyes again; surprised he was still alive.
Alan breathed a deep sigh of relief as he read the string of zeros on the counter's electronic face. A large portion of the bomb appeared to have melted and was pooled around the base of the device in a thick slime. As he gazed at it, Alan was suddenly aware that it wasn't even the same color it had been. What ever the kid had done, it had worked - the bomb was no longer a danger.
Alan shook off the shock, and hurried over to the boy who was sitting slumped in front of the now useless device. He looked terrible. Up close Alan could see how thin the teenager was, and how badly he was hurt. The bullet had torn through the boy's shoulder at an angle, exiting through the front of his chest, and leaving behind a messy gaping wound.
"Oh hell, kid, let me take a look at that," Alan told the boy, kneeling down beside him to get a good look at the wound. It was bad, but not as bad as Alan had first feared. The bullet was out ... and even though there was a lot of blood, the fact that it was moving sluggishly and not pulsing out was a very encouraging sign.
"You're not afraid of me?" the boy asked him in surprise.
The question gave Alan a pause as he realized that he really wasn't afraid. He knew this child had the potential ability to kill him with an act of will, he'd seen the incredible power the boy commanded... but he'd also seen the same boy perform one of the most selfless acts he'd ever witnessed. This kid was no threat to him... or anyone else. "No. Now, come on, I have to get you out of here before those animals come back," he answered at last, pulling the kid to his feet. He tried to ignore the teenager's pained groan and the weak coughed as he half-dragged, half-carried the young man toward the badly concealed security door.
"Why are you helping me?" the kid asked, his words slightly slurred by his pain and exhaustion.
"You just saved my life, and I'll be damned if I let that Nazi pig, Kelly, and his goons kill a kid just because he's different," Alan answered without hesitation.
"I don't want to die."
Alan had to strain to hear the words and he felt his heart constrict. He didn't know this kid, but he knew it would be a great injustice if the boy did die.
Putting a confidence he didn't feel into his voice, Alan spoke firmly, "It's not far now ... you're not going to die. I promise. Just be brave and keep fighting a little bit longer."
The weight in his arms grew heavier with each step as the kid gradually lost his fight against unconsciousness, and Alan was grateful that he had made it through the parking lot to his car before collapsing.
Alan gunned the engine and drove. He had no idea what to do next. Taking the boy to a hospital was out of the question; he might as well have left the boy where he was. He thought furiously as he drove. Suddenly, he knew exactly what to do, and he pressed his foot down on the accelerator. Quickly driving uptown into a very affluent residential area of the city, Alan pulled into the parking garage of a large apartment building. He turned the car's vid toward himself and dialed a number. In moments he was looking into the round face of one of the city's most expensive plastic surgeons, Dr. Woodridge.
"What do you want, McKay? I told you I wasn't going to give you a statement, so you can go to hell," the man snapped, reaching forward to cut the connection.
"Wait! I'll make a deal with you. You help me, and I'll forget all about your little scam," Alan called out, before the other could complete the action.
Dr. Woodridge stopped the motion and eyed him skeptically. "I'm listening, what's the deal?" he asked at last.
"Come down and see, I'm in your parking garage... hurry, and bring your medical bag," Alan instructed.
Shock crossed the fat-faced man's face for a moment, then he nodded and cut the connection.
Alan had been surprised that it hadn't taken any convincing to get Dr. Woodridge to help the gravely injured young man laying on the back seat of his car. The doctor had taken one look at the boy and heaved his impressively large frame into the back seat with his patient and had begun treating him immediately.
Alan had found himself defensively explaining why he hadn't taken the boy directly to a hospital, and again the doctor surprised him. After learning his patient was a mutant, the doctor had responded by gently brushing a lock of the boy's hair from his eyes and softly muttering, "Poor kid."
The doctor had done his best and it had been enough. Alan had listened carefully to the doctor's instructions and had promised he would call instantly if the boy took a turn for the worse. He had also promised that there would be no more story... it was an easy promise, and one Alan vowed to keep.
He moved the kid to a hotel as far away from the museum as he could. It was cheap but it was clean and exactly what Alan needed. Over the next week he treated the boy's injuries to the best of his ability, following Dr. Woodridge's instructions to the letter. The boy's injuries were healing nicely, he was going to be scarred for the rest of his life but the boy already had a few scars on his body ... another shouldn't bother him too much.
A groan sounded from the bed and bleary, blue eyes gradually focused on Alan's face. "Water ... please?" the teen asked, in a weak voice.
Alan got a glass of water and helped support the teenager as he took a drink. "How do you feel?" he asked.
The kid sighed, and closed his eyes again. "Okay ... Tired ... need sleep."
Alan sighed himself. It was time to go, he wanted to help this kid but he couldn't any more. He had bought every kind of supply that he thought the boy might need, he'd drained his savings account of every cent he'd saved and he'd done his best to hide him, but he could no longer take the risk to himself. He sat down at the small table and wrote the kid a note to explain what he could. Then with a final look back he closed the door, returning to his own life and leaving the boy to his fate.
It had been difficult explaining to his family and friends why he had been gone so often over the last week. Julie had even tearfully demanded to know if he was having an affair. Alan had managed to soothe her fears but he didn't want to risk losing his family. He had already lost his job at channel 2, he had objected to what had been done to the museum footage and they had fired him for it. Fortunately, no one knew that Alan always ran a live feed backup from his camera to a recorder in his car. They may have taken and doctored the camera's original copy but he still had the unadulterated backup copy.
A copy he now had playing in the vid reader in his home, a copy waiting for the right time for it to become public. A time when Senator Kelly didn't have such a hold over the media and there wasn't such an intense fear of mutants in the minds of every day people... if such a time existed.
He knew he could say nothing to anyone about the kid's whereabouts, and a lot of people had been asking. The police, Senator Kelly's people ... and others, one in particular stuck in Alan's mind. The older man had knocked politely on his door and asked the same question all the others had. "What happened to the mutant?" ... except that this man had called the boy "Lucas." Alan had told the man the same thing he had told everyone else... he didn't know. But he had, for a moment, considered telling this man the truth.
Alan recognized the man from the faded and worn newspaper clipping he had found in the boy's pocket. He had done a little digging after finding that photo and knew the man was who he claimed to be ... Captain Nathan Bridger (retired), the ex-commander of the seaQuest. Alan knew the kid, Lucas, had lived on the seaQuest at the same time and it was obvious that the two knew each other and were once close. But there had to be a reason why the kid hadn't contacted this man on his own. Alan had read the press release about the discovery of a mutant on the seaQuest... and the fact that the mutant had been shot by the crew. Alan had no intention of betraying the boy just because this man seemed to care, for all he knew Captain Bridger wanted to finish the job his crew had begun. The man had seemed genuinely disappointed and had given Alan his contact details, in case he remembered anything, before he left.
Alan stood up from his chair, finishing the last of his drink with a hard swallow. He took the disk out of the reader and hid it behind his wedding vid. No one had watched that vid for years and the copy would be safe there. He stared at Nathan Bridger's card for a second before he slipped it behind the wedding vid as well. He would think about it, and investigate this Captain Bridger some more. If the man checked out and he really did want to help the kid ... then maybe Alan would send him an anonymous copy of the vid.
On his way to bed, Alan stopped briefly at the entrance to his youngest son's room. The child's dark golden hair laid splayed across his pillow and the boy sucked contentedly on his thumb. "He needs a haircut," Alan mused. What would happen to them if he, or his older brother, mutated? Would his children be chased, hunted and feared as much as the young mutant in the museum? Someday he'd make it right. Someday, he'd proudly show the vid of a brave mutant boy saving hundreds of lives to everyone, but for now Senator Kelly was too powerful, and Alan had too much to loose.
***
AUGUST 2000